Maggie Miller eBook

They had not intended to be married so soon, for Margaret
would wait a little longer; but an unexpected and
urgent summons home made it necessary for Mr. Carrollton
to go, and so by chance the bridal day was fixed for
the 18th. None save the family were present, and
Madam Conway’s tears fell fast as the words
were spoken which made them one, for by those words
she knew that she and Margaret must part. But
not forever; for when the next year’s autumn
leaves shall fall the old house by the mill will again
be without a mistress, while in a handsome country-seat
beyond the sea Madam Conway will demean herself right
proudly, as becometh the grandmother of Mrs. Arthur
Carrollton. Theo, too, and Rose will both be
there, for their husbands have so promised, and when
the Christmas fires are kindled on the hearth and
the ancient pictures on the wall take a richer tinge
from the ruddy light, there will be a happy group
assembled within the Carrollton halls; and Margaret,
the happiest of them all, will then almost forget
that ever in the Hillsdale woods, sitting at Hagar’s
feet, she listened with a breaking heart to the story
of her birth.

But not the thoughts of a joyous future could dissipate
entirely the sadness of that bridal, for Margaret
was well beloved, and the billows which would roll
ere long between her and her childhood’s home
stretched many, many miles away. Still they tried
to be cheerful, and Henry Warner’s merry jokes
had called forth more than one gay laugh, when the
peal of bells and the roll of drums arrested their
attention; while the servants, who had learned the
cause of the rejoicing, struck up “God Save
the Queen,” and from an adjoining field a rival
choir sent back the stirring note of “Hail,
Columbia, Happy Land.” Mrs. Jeffrey, too,
was busy. In secret she had labored at the rent
made by her foot in the flag of bygone days, and now,
perspiring at every pore, she dragged it up the tower
stairs, planting it herself upon the housetop, where
side by side with the royal banner it waved in the
summer breeze. And this she did, not because she
cared aught for the cable, in which she “didn’t
believe” and declared “would never work,”
but because she would celebrate Margaret’s wedding-day,
and so make some amends for her interference when
once before the “Stars and Stripes” had
floated above the old stone house.

And thus it was, amid smiles and tears, amid bells
and drums, and waving flags and merry song, amid noisy
shout and booming guns, that double bridal day was
kept; and when the sun went down it left a glory on
the western clouds, as if they, too, had donned their
best attire in honor of the union.

* * * *
*

It is moonlight on the land—­glorious, beautiful
moonlight. On Hagar’s peaceful grave it
falls, and glancing from the polished stone shines
across the fields upon the old stone house, where all
is cheerless now, and still. No life—­no
sound—­no bounding step—­no gleeful
song. All is silent, all is sad. The light
of the household has departed; it went with the hour
when first to each other the lonesome servants said,
“Margaret is gone.”